


Sew Nice

by snarechan



Category: Shimotsuma Monogatari | Kamikaze Girls (2004)
Genre: Embroidery, Fashion & Couture, Friendship, Gen, Sewing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2009-09-05
Updated: 2009-09-05
Packaged: 2017-10-21 16:08:21
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 835
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/227064
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/snarechan/pseuds/snarechan
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Momoko returns to one of her old hobbies.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Sew Nice

**Author's Note:**

> I'm not sure why I wrote this. I just remember finally watching the movie late one night and being unable to sleep until I got this out of my system. Beta read by the same, wonderful individual who introduced me to Kamikaze Girls: Cassandra Cassidy!

I love to embroider.

A designer asked me once if I did, if it _mattered_ to me, and I couldn’t lie about that. Needlework is a skill that enhances my chosen lifestyle. Being paid to design is different from doing it for fun; I’m selfish when it comes to my time and being forced to do such art was depressing. These days, I do it strictly because I want to, not because I need to. I adore it that much more now and find myself compelled to sew all the time.

It resumed when my grandma asked for candy money. The name escapes me; I’ve forgotten it due to the brand not being a manufacturer of sweets as I know it. It was nothing I would enjoy, so I gave her the required yen and sat down for lunch. That’s when I noticed my grandmother’s handkerchief resting near my glass of tea. The piece of fabric was ratty and dirty, with a few holes in it. The mice must have been at it again.

Picking the material up to examine, I ran my manicured nails over it. Before I could stop myself, I’d sewn butterflies on the fabric, blending the holes in and turning it into something beautiful. My grandma seemed to appreciate my handiwork, laughing as she tossed it into the air, letting it flutter down into her lap. She would repeat the process.

This happened again, but with my father. He’d fallen asleep in front of the television, out cold, and I noticed how plain his t-shirt looked. With him still sleeping and wearing the shirt, I embroidered colorful balloons across the bottom, left corner.

My rediscovered creativity didn’t stop there. At school, I would stitch on my bonnets, socks, or other small attire during lunch, barely nibbling at my sugary-delight-filled bento box, or between classes. I didn’t always think about it, not consciously, but I worked often. I could quit anytime I wanted; I just didn’t feel like it. The results were just too cute.

This pastime didn’t get to be out of hand until Ichigo started visiting again, complaining of photographers who locked themselves in their offices with the recently taken pictures or how uncomfortable the dresses were. She would chatter on and on about it, voicing her indigestion at it all (I think she meant ‘indignation’) and sneering over the phone calls she kept getting from whiny advertising companies that wanted her to pose for them.

As she ranted, I eyed her favorite jacket: the purple one that she still wore whenever she could. She’d taken spray paint to the phrases and images that she disliked, notably those that were associated with her old gang. That didn’t leave much untouched; the ‘Thank you, Akimi’ was all that was left.

When she wasn’t looking, I snagged it from its resting place and began to undo the old work. The spray paint wouldn’t come off, but that was okay. When the thread was removed, I craftily covered it, my mind inserting the image of a mystical crane flying over flowers, its wings made of ribbon and the petals of lace.

Ichigo had fallen asleep, mouth hanging open and head tilted back. Even when she wasn’t awake, she couldn’t keep her mouth shut. At least she’d stopped talking, allowing me to concentrate – and I did. I worked through the night, stitching the bird with a steady and precise hand. By morning it was finished, and I left the jacket draped over her like a blanket as I stepped outside.

I wasn’t done, as it turned out. My craft led me to Ichigo’s bike, and I daintily leaned over the vehicle. The seat caught my attention. It was made of some kind of durable but fake leather: changeable. Rushing back to the house, I grabbed my kit and got back to embroidering, not stopping to eat, sleep, or drink.

Noon came and went, with Ichigo getting up and her mumbles turning into pleased cries.

“ _Eh?_ What is this, Momoko?” she asked, running over and holding up her jacket. “Did you do this? And…what are you doing to my ride?”

I didn’t waste the time to answer. I finished the last stitch, sealing my work, and pushed the seat back into place. Text detailing the legendary Himiko and a flock of cranes now decorated it.

“What is this?” Ichigo asked again, mesmerized.

“You’re liberated, right? And everyone knows birds soar free – they might be the freest beings in the world. That’s you, flying solo.”

She looked at the article of clothing in her hands, then her bike, then me, and then her jacket one last time. After a moment, she smiled and slipped it on, adjusting it to fit.

“This is another thing I owe you for. I’m really building up a debt.”

I smiled back, joining my hands at the small of my back and bouncing on the balls of my platform shoes.

“No, you’re not. Friends don’t owe friends for gifts.”

-Fin-


End file.
